I bet my mind is dirtier than yours

You're looking at a petite frame that makes your hands feel like they could span every inch of it twice over.

You notice the way confidence sits on someone small — heavier, somehow, more concentrated, like heat trapped in a tight space. You feel it pulling at something low in your gut, that particular ache that starts before you've even fully processed what you're seeing.

You already know the game being played here. You're being sized up, measured against whatever's running through that mind — and you're losing, deliciously, before you've said a single word.